Unspeakables
by Eskimo-Desi
Summary: Prequel to an upcoming story of mine. Warning- eating disorders in full detail here. Marissa's lost control and Summer remains silent.
1. Part I

Author's Note: Two-parter. Prequel to a new story of mine which should be posted tomorrow.

* * *

For a while, Marissa seemed to be gaining weight. Marissa, who had shot up like a bean stalk almost five and a half inches from September to October. Marissa was growing into her new, almost gangly body and limbs.

"You look great," Summer told her, and she meant it. Before, Marissa had looked—well, Summer hated to say it, but—anorexic. And that? Was not a sight to behold.

Marissa nodded and turned her head, the soft angles she'd gotten over the weekend framing her rounder face. Summer didn't see the pained look Marissa acquired with her supposedly encouraging words.

Ellie, a transfer student from Chicago, became Marissa's newest friend. Summer felt her hurt grow as they ate lunch, just the two of them, as they headed into the bathroom afterwards, undoubtedly ready to apply makeup—since when had Marissa worn so much makeup, anyways?—and gossip about boys and teachers.

Summer had never felt so alone. Ellie was sick that Monday, and Summer dutifully sat with Marissa, sneering gleefully at the other girls who had waited patiently to sit with Marissa and were ousted once again. She'd waited for her turn with Marissa, because Marissa was her best friend.

Summer was starting to believe the 'was' part, as in 'has-been', no longer.

She observed Marissa's filled out figure, watched her eat a hamburger with fries drowned in ketchup. Summer listened to Marissa gab about the latest development in the soap opera known as **Her Boyfriend Luke**.

At that point Marissa excused herself to the bathroom, rather abruptly in Summer's opinion. There were four minutes until lunch ended, so Summer gathered up the remains of her lunch, and Marissa's as well.

Summer walked to the bathroom, grinning sweetly at Holly Fisher—a girl who constantly called Marissa's house, dressed like her, and basically tried to be her. Nothing to worry about—there'd been others like her before.

Summer called out Marissa's name. When Marissa didn't answer, Summer bent down and peered under the stalls, checking for Marissa's shoes. The stall furthermost from the door was the only one being occupied.

Marissa was kneeling on the floor. Summer couldn't see much else but she was concerned. She lightly rapped her knuckles on the closed door.

"Marissa, are you okay?"

Marissa didn't answer. Summer pushed her body carefully into the door and—not surprisingly, due to the lack of maintenance at Harbor—it swung inwards.

"Marissa, what's going on?"

There was a revolting substance in the toilet that had the look and consistency of oatmeal, only reddened and darkened substantially.

Sensing that Marissa was finished, Summer leaned over her and held down the germ-infected handle. A loud whirring resonated throughout the bathroom, and the water began to empty.

Summer watched, as did Marissa, as the thick liquid swirled down and out of the toilet bowl and into the pipes, away from wherever it was they were.

"Marissa?" Still, silence.

Sighing, Summer sat down on the cold tiled floor, Marissa's back to her.

She rested her head against the back of Marissa's shoulder and felt Marissa shudder involuntarily. A quiet sob from Marissa suppressed any—all—of the words Summer wanted to speak.

That was the day Summer learned not to ask questions.


	2. Part II

Author's Note: Part two of two. Prequel to a new story of mine which should be posted tomorrow.

* * *

Marissa tried not to smile or cry—which was better, these days?—as Summer followed her into the bathroom. She avoided Summer's worried glance in the mirrors above the sinks, heading into her usual stall.

It didn't even take a whole fist anymore.

Two fingers, and if she ate fast enough, one.

The space at the back of her throat was beginning to bleed most days. There was a raw patch there, protective lining burned off by the acidic quality of her purges.

Marissa hesitated, recalling what she'd eaten at lunch. First—a bright pink strawberry milkshake—for identification purposes. Four chicken fingers, half a spring roll, and two California rolls. She'd thought chocolate milk would soothe her throat after hurriedly forcing the food down, but it didn't.

It wouldn't hurt any less coming back up.

Summer had tried to talk to her once—a penned note with hearts and words of support and worry.

Summer didn't understand.

Marissa had to fight this battle. Alone. It was all hers and she wasn't sharing, ever.

This battle of sorts, a battle of wills, perhaps, was consuming Marissa. By the pound.

Her own private war, with herself. It made Marissa giggle when she thought about it, really, really thought about it. Nobody knew, except Summer—and Ellie of course. Ellie was now confined to the girls' bathroom on the second floor. Ellie's means of purging just sickened Marissa.

Of course it had dawned on Marissa that the whole thing was nauseating. Ha. It really was nauseating. But Marissa retained some sort of sick pleasure, seeing her meal at its worst. Not quite digested, but not whole, not sitting on a plate waiting for the greedy pig otherwise known as Marissa to stuff her face with it.

And nobody saw it, either. Of course, Marissa was a little less than jubilant when she started to gain a few pounds. But she was still below average for her height, so all was right in the way of secrets. And the constant feeling of being bloated wasn't all that great.

Marissa had taken her control and sold it, a combo deal along with her soul.

She kneeled on the floor, stomach's contents churning. Her leg touched something...wet...but time was precious and the seconds were ticking away.

One finger, two finger.

Up came the brownish liquid mixed with bits of rice and a whole mess of what tasted like caviar, crab, and that one taste Marissa associated with egg rolls.

One finger, two finger.

Up came the strawberry milkshake. Twice. Until Marissa realized that there was blood infused with the liquid ice cream.

Marissa's eyes watered and she stood up, pressed down on the handle that disposed of the remnants of her dirty little habit.

It wasn't dirty, not in Marissa's mind. She was cleansing her system. Not really, but it was funny how Marissa's mind kept insisting that what she was doing was normal, natural even.

She licked her lips, tasting the last of her strawberry milkshake, and unlocked the stall.

Summer was waiting by the second sink. Wordlessly Marissa washed her hands and rinsed her mouth out—bad breath was another minor downside. She checked her reflection in the mirror and smiled.

Marissa turned off the faucets and nodded at Summer.

She was finished, for now, and Summer wouldn't dare say anything. Summer never said anything, not to Marissa or anyone who could 'help' her.

It was almost like they were sharing the unfortunate habit.

Marissa followed Summer out of the bathroom, biting her neutralized lip and wondering when—if—she should speak.


	3. Part III

Author's Note: Yeh, I know I said this was a two-parter...but I figured this would go better here, in the prequel, than in the new story. New story will be delayed a couple of days because of this. And whoever told me what the difference between anorexia and bulimia was, thank you, but I know that already. Believe me, _I_ know.

* * *

"Summer, everything all right in there?" Summer listened, horrified, to her father's banging on the door.

"Yeah Dad, just girl stuff. You know," she replied weakly, patting Marissa's back.

"Okay, princess. Let me know if you want Bridget's help."

Summer sighed. She'd never ask her dad's latest arm candy, Bridget, for help. She'd never ask anyone for help because she was supposed to be Marissa's help.

"You're gonna be okay," she told Marissa, but was actually speaking to herself as well. She couldn't handle this anymore, this quiet fire burning in the back of her mind and Marissa's throat.

Marissa coughed; she was finished. Summer stood up to flush the toilet but Marissa gently laid a hand on her. She shook her head fiercely. Summer sat back down on her bathroom floor and waited.

Marissa coughed again and blood specks flew into the toilet. Determined, she stuck one finger, two fingers down her aching throat and began to dry heave. A little bit of blood came out each time.

Summer watched with horror, frozen numb with fear. She'd been silent for too long. Marissa began to try, clutching her throat and whimpering a little. Summer reached over her and flushed the toilet. The remains of popcorn, ice cream, a hamburger, and two Oreo milkshakes, not to mention some carrot sticks, mixed with the blood and were washed away.

Marissa shook her head. Summer was too good to her. She didn't deserve a friend like Summer, a friend who was there to hold her hair back, to flush the toilet, to say nothing but mean everything.

She felt her throat burn with a new ferocity; it was harder to ignore than ever before. She looked at the full length mirror on the back of Summer's bathroom door, not quite shocked to see her bloodshot eyes.

Marissa was sick of this, of her need to bow to the ceramic goddess two, three times a day. She knew she was destroying the lining of her esophagus, not to mention her health. She wanted to not care; she'd been doing a pretty good job up until now. Done with pretending she didn't hurt inside, pretending that this was not a battle of wills, a battle to win a war she'd lost long ago.

Summer's eyes spoke multitudes of wisdom, conveying feelings that were better left unsaid.

You need help, the eyes spoke to Marissa once.

A second time, I'm scared, Marissa, I don't think I can help you.

I'm just a kid, this is out of my league, I don't want to lose you but I know you don't want help.

The eyes pleaded with Marissa, glittering brown orbs of helplessness, of uncertainty.

Don't make me keep this secret too, said the eyes, don't do this to me.

It's destroying you, they told her, but admitted, this is destroying me too.

Marissa wanted to relieve Summer of her silent burden, but knew she couldn't. She'd come too far to let go on her own, and Summer wouldn't give it up unless she did.

She'd been silent too long.

Like a ghost Summer's eyes haunted her, needing answers but finding none in the lifeless eyes of Marissa. Summer couldn't find the answers in the puke-like smell she associated with Marissa now, and she certainly couldn't see in that swirl of food.

Marissa had been silent too long, but Summer was guilty of the lack of words as well. The unspoken words between them had been steadily drawing them closer together, entwining them, making sure they'd never come undone.

It was time to let loose the weights of their young souls.

It was time to speak the unspeakables.

"Idontwanttodothisanymore," Marissa blurted out, words jumbled together in an incoherent mess. Her life was a mess; it was only fitting.

"What?" Summer asked, hardly daring to believe her ears. Marissa was speaking. They'd never been able to talk about what went on in the various bathrooms they frequented. Never.

"I don't want to dothisanymore," Marissa repeated, a hint of confidence in her voice. Raising it, she said again, "I don't want to do this anymore!"

Summer knew that it wouldn't be quite so easy as saying those seven words. But it would definitely help. "I can help you with that," she said, forcing the next words out of her mouth, "But I can't keep quiet if you continue to purge. Marissa—look at me Marissa—you're my best friend. I can't have anything happen to you. What would I do?" She blinked; tears had sprung to her eyes.

Marissa nodded. Sometimes saying the unspeakable was easier. She felt her heart open just a little bit, with the pressure of unspoken words lifted off her chest. "I know," she said, "I want my life back." And it was true. She'd lost it to bulimia, to the ceramic goddess, too many months ago.

Marissa felt tears in her eyes and her throat burn as she choked up. "I can't…let it take me forever…I don't want to lose myself…"

Summer rocked her quietly then, knowing that the worst wasn't over and the road to recovery would be filled with speed bumps, but it was okay now.


End file.
